First off, there are two things I felt compelled to embracing more of after reading Present Over Perfect.

1. Feelings. To actually allow myself to feel the negative emotions I prefer to push down.
2. Silence. I have tried allotting 3 minutes a day for a moment of silence. Key word- TRIED.

Recently I sat on the porch and I set my timer for three minutes. In this three minutes, I don’t pray, I don’t start going over my to do list; I just sit and feel. As I leaned back in my chair there was a cool breeze that brushed over my arms and my face. I gazed up at the slow movement of the August clouds. I felt such peace in that moment and I began to look further into the depths of the endless blue sky. I noticed vultures circling in the distance.

Que the record scratch. I sighed. Buzzards are such a buzz kill. How often do I point out majestic hawks to my family only to cancel my exuberance with “never mind it’s just a vulture”.

Vultures are gross. Even the Bible says so. They prey on the weak and sickly. Their ugly bald heads are featherless because it’s more sanitary for them when they dig their faces into a decaying piece of flesh. They have acidic urine that trickles down their legs and it actually  acts as a sterlizer after standing in rotting carcasses. Disgusting right? How do I know all this about vultures? Because I googled it of course, but the reason I googled it was because I felt God prompting me to look at the vultures with a different viewpoint. He was prodding me to see how important they are to the ecosystem and how they are one more fascinating part of the creation puzzle. They feed on animal carcasses, preventing the spread of deadly bacteria and fungus into the ground and water. Check out this article about where they are being poisoned and becoming extinct in India. It is NOT a pretty picture. When the vulture population went down the stray dogs and rat population went up causing thousands of people to die from rabbis! Vultures are like a flying garbage truck, not super cute, but very necessary.

My new viewpoint on vultures has led me further into my already altering view of my pain.

“It is terrifying: wildly unprotected, vulnerable, starring our wounds right in the face. But this is where we grow, where we learn, where our lives actually begin to change”

-Shauna Niequist

I don’t like to feel pain and discomfort, not emotional or otherwise. So when I feel anxious thoughts rise up I try to change the subject in my mind and just think happy thoughts. Yet, sometimes the thoughts are circling around in my head like vultures. That’s when I really want to just medicate with some kind of distraction like Facebook or sleep. However, in order to get through it, I have to go through it. I am just scratching the surface on allowing myself to have those thoughts. To really figure out what the root is and bring them to God and trade it in for truth. To say to myself I feel bad. Why is that? Let’s explore. Father bring captivity to every thought and make it obedient to Christ.

It turns out that often times these thoughts aren’t as scary and disturbing as I had always perceived them. They are just like the vultures. They get a bad rap, but it’s these unpleasant feelings that are often the catalyst for removal of the garbage I’ve been walking around with!

Ugly circling vultures indicates a wounded animal. Ugly circling thoughts indicates a wounded heart. Rather than detest or ignore those feelings of anxiety try letting them surface and facing them head on. Brene Brown says “You have to own your suffering or it will own you”

Maybe you are sad and you need to go ahead and have a good cry.

Perhaps you are lonely and you need to reach out to a friend.

If you feel like a failure, it’s time to reconnect with what the word of God says about who you are.

If you have regrets you might need to ask forgiveness.

Or if you are fearful, play some worship music and cry out to God.

What the enemy meant for evil God can use for good.

Vultures are still pretty nasty and I don’t want any metaphorical ones taking up residence in my mind. However, I will no longer shew them away and pretend they aren’t there. Instead I will unpack the pain and ask God in his infinite mercy to wash over me, teach me, and comfort me in the midst of the darkness.

It’s a dirty job, but someone’s got to do it.

Ruppell’s Griffon vultures (Gyps rueppellii), Ndutu plain, Serengeti National Park, Tanzania, Africa
Photo by Charlie Hamilton James originally published in the National Geographic article “Vultures Are Revolting. Here’s Why We Need to Save Them.” .

I recently had the opportunity to interview Jen Hill who is a personal friend and hero of mine. Her family’s story is one that will undoubtedly inspire. I asked her to take us back to life in 2014 and explain the events that unfolded and how God has been miraculously been leading and providing every step of the way. Here is part of Jen’s story.

The year prior to the summer of 2014 had been a fairly rough stretch for me personally. I was pregnant with our fifth child, and I felt pretty lousy for months. I was homeschooling the kids, and the winter just about did me in that year! Thankfully, as the winter turned into spring, I started to turn a corner myself and we entered into the homestretch of the pregnancy.

By June 2014 we were hoping for a break. My husband Greg was settling into a new career in health insurance an there was a hope that life might finally be settling down for us. Surely there were better days ahead.

On June 21, 2014, we woke up ready to conquer the world. Baby #5 was due at any time. Nesting was in full force. Greg had noticed that the riding lawn mower wasn’t cutting the grass well. It was decided that he would run the blades over to a repair shop, come home and get us, and we’d swing back to pick up the blades and head to Costco for groceries. I’m not sure either of us really know how to process the fact that those blades got sharpened on that morning, but it’s part of the story, and we’ve been committed from day one to tell the story authentically and with open hearts.

We finished our errands and got back home. I laid our daughter down for her nap, and the rest of us headed outside to do yard work and clean up the garage. The three boys were outside with us. Our youngest son, Jude, had always been Greg’s sidekick. Jude was a helper.

At three and half years old, he was just the right size to fit in Dad’s lap while Greg mowed the lawn. So Greg took Jude and they began mowing the lawn. Jude even fell asleep that day. We have the pictures to prove it. He was wearing Greg’s ball cap, completely asleep on his lap. I snapped a picture of the dynamic duo and then carefully took Jude from Greg’s arms and sat on the swing in the backyard with Jude.

Jude woke up and we chatted, waved at Greg as he finished up the yard, and made funny faces over our excitement for the fancy ice cream sandwiches that we had purchased at Costco that morning. The plan was to enjoy the ice cream as soon as Greg was finished mowing.

Greg was nearly done so I left Jude sitting on the swing and headed into the garage to wrap up my work.

When I heard Greg screaming I felt like the world slid into slow motion. I knew by the sound of Greg’s scream that our world had just completely and forever changed. Greg had backed up the mower to go back over a spot in the yard, and unbeknownst to Greg, Jude had run up behind him.

When I walked out of the garage I could see that Jude’s left foot was completely gone and his right foot was severely damaged. Greg, screaming, was running towards me with Jude’s legs facing out. Even as I began to scream too, and react to the horror before me, I felt the Lord speak to me.

As we worked to get Jude stabilized, Greg was beside himself. I grabbed Greg by the face and told him that God was writing a story for us. Bottom line. God was still in control. Who says that in a moment like that? I can’t take credit for it! God was faithful. It was a lifeline for us from that moment on. It’s been our only rest.

Because of that day our vibrant, healthy three-year-old son became a double amputee. We spent nearly a month in the hospital, delivered his baby sister on Day 26, and all of us went back home together on Day 28.

Those weeks were incredibly full. Full of emotion, trauma, questions, grief, joy, pain…

We determined right away that the only way we could get through it was to face it head on.

We initially opted to stay local for Jude’s prosthetic care. Some of the medical team that were overseeing Jude’s care told us that where we went for his feet didn’t matter. They said product options wouldn’t vary. Considering our context, especially with a newborn, it seemed like a no brainer. Of course we would stay local! Why travel if the magic could happen locally?

Naturally, this was a total misstep. “Where” we went absolutely mattered. So much so that I’m not sure I can emphasize it enough. His first set of feet just did not work out. We were stunned. What of all those well-meaning people that said “kids are so resilient”. Why was he not up and running?

We learned pretty quickly that the medical world is not a clear, set path. Who knew? We had to stumble our way through and persist to figure out what Jude needed and where he could get it. The world of prosthetics (when done correctly) is this beautiful mix of art and craft with the required technical knowledge. We feel like we took the long way to find the right setup for Jude, but when we found it, we had a deep, deep joy.

I’m very grateful for the experts that we rely on. However, interestingly enough, it has been other parents that have played pivotal roles in our quest to get Jude the right kind of prosthetics. I tracked down another mom, and with her input I was able to get connected to Jude’s awesome prosthetist, “Mr. Dave,” in Chicago.

The rest is history. Less than 9 months after the accident Jude was running and playing soccer.

He now has two sets of feet: an everyday pair that allows him to run and walk and running blades for when he wants to go “extra fast.”

Jude had the grit and ability to do it all along, but we needed someone to give him the right tools. That’s how we view his special feet. They are tools that allow Jude to be Jude.

So that was the prosthetic side of things…but what of the emotional?

Coming home from the hospital was scary. We felt abandoned by all the medical care we were used to receiving in a hospital setting. No one was in charge. We were in charge! And that felt a bit scary. We’re the type of parents that want to be involved in every discussion, every decision, every step of the way. But we felt like our safety net was gone, and the whole transition home was jarring. Those were hard, overwhelming days. We had five children! One a newborn. One a double amputee. Three that had been separated from our close-knit family for weeks. A grieving dad. A grieving, post-partum mom. It all felt over the top.

Somehow I’m writing this and it’s been over three years. We made it through that. Grace upon grace upon grace. I have no other explanation. Jude is a beautiful picture of resilience. He has a gregarious personality, he’s a gifted athlete. He loves Jesus. He’s still Dad’s sidekick and helper.

My brain is now appalled that we allowed the kids outside while the yard was being mowed. I can easily recall the insensitive comments by people who hear our story and declare that they would never do such a thing. But my social media feeds tell a different story. Lots of people do it. Even people that know our story continue to snap the pictures of their cute kids on the mower with Dad.

Honestly, I can’t imagine our mission in life being centered on lawn mower safety. I refuse to let that define us. We can’t ever go back and change the events of that day. Yet, we hope people will realize how many children are injured every year because of lawn mowers (thousands upon thousands). We hope people will keep their kids inside while the yard is being mowed. But more than anything else, above ALL else, we hope anyone who hears our story knows that Jesus is enough.

Suffering has made our world so much bigger. Strange how that happens! My social media feeds are much more diverse. We’ve had the privilege of traveling to special events across the country with Jude. We’ve met so many incredible people, from United States senators, Paralympians, veterans, and everyday heroes that are the perfect picture of perseverance and grit.

The people we’ve met, and the widening of our world, is an aspect of all this hardship that I’m very thankful for…it is a beautiful thing to behold.

In all of this I am also learning that trauma takes time. We peel back layer after layer, only to find more there. Three years out and I honestly still feel like we’re only at the beginning. This has been a tough element! We feel very weak. We’re tired. Finances have never settled. We believe, but oh, Jesus, help us in our unbelief!

Jude faces constant stares and comments. It’s a lot for a 6 year old! He has days where he’s unable to wear his feet, or he is sore. He’s facing a surgical revision this winter. We know it’s just his reality now, and he’s a tough kid, but it’s hard.

I’ve always prayed that our kids would love Jesus with all their hearts and all their souls and all their minds and all their strength. So convicting to my heart! I must do the same! We know Jesus is our treasure. I don’t understand why a horrible lawn mower accident is a part of this story. I don’t get it. I just know that Jesus is writing a story, and ultimately it’s not even about us. It’s about Him.

I read Weakness is the Way by J.I. Packer early on, after June 21. It struck a chord in me. All the words of scripture, Jesus’ life on earth, His example…it all came together for me.

This whole story is one of weakness. WE ARE WEAK.

But, oh friends, in our weakness, HE IS STRONG.

But he said to me, “My grace is sufficient for you, for my power is made perfect in weakness.” Therefore I will boast all the more gladly of my weaknesses, so that the power of Christ may rest upon me.

2 Corinthians 12:9 English Standard Version (ESV)

Team Hill recently moved away from the rental house that they lived in at the time of the accident and became homeowners. Their lovely family has now expanded to a party of 8. Three boys and three girls. Jen still homeschools all of them and as their story unfolds their family motto continues to be “Jesus is Enough”

This time last year I wrote a post about our compost pile. We really love to compost and we even moved our pile with us when we bought our house. One thing about composting is that certain seeds will reproduce if you don’t grind them up. I’ve never ground up anything in our compost and so when we had pumpkin vines sprouting out of the dirt we just transported them to a garden. That is how we ended up with pumpkins this year. 

They were a small variety. Not big enough to carve or do much with. We still enjoyed picking them and decorating the front porch with them though. The kids would line them up in order of size and there just happened to be one pumpkin for each member of the family. 

That’s what gave me the idea to write our names on them. All of the small pumpkins are from our garden and the big one is from the pumpkin farm that we went to last weekend.

Each pumpkin (and even my attempts at cursive) has its imperfections. I like that part though. It makes them “perfectly imperfect” for us. *Some of you This Is Us fans know where I pulled that quote from. 

I would love to have a bail of hay and a scarecrow or some other little finishing touches, but shopping and money are two things that don’t come about too often around here. So I just pulled out the old yellow rocking chair that we salvaged from the dumpster and added a few bricks that were already on the porch. The kids were eager to gather some pretty leaves for me. 

It all came together quite nicely I’d say. 

My favorite part of the display is that if all goes well these pumpkins will also decompose to make more soil and more pumpkins for next year. That’s one of the things that is so great about the fall season. It’s a time of death of course, but you don’t have to look hard to see beauty in it.

Starting with Z, my husband J and I decided we needed to be intentional about having a one on one outing with each of the kids at least once a year starting at age 5. I explain more about why age 5 in this post: A Priceless Mother Son Outing.

Half of the “date nights” that I have had with Z were at Chic-fil-A for the mother-son events. 

We’ve always had a great time and look forward to it every year. They always make it so special. This year’s theme was Super Hero.

You have to have reservations to attend and when you arrive you sit at a decorated table and are waited on.  This year our server was Super Girl and we got to pick out a free dessert (two chocolate shakes please!) 

Outside of the playland was a transformation station.

This where the boys could walk into the “changing booth” and walk out as their favorite superhero!

Z got a batman slap bracelet, a cape, and mask.

He also got his face painted and we had to do the photo booth of course.

It was so much fun! 

I talked to Z about maybe changing it up next time and not doing mother-son night at CFA anymore. Next year I want to take Ezie because he will be 5. I could take both boys, most families come to the event with multiple children, but I want Ezie to get the experience that Z had with just being the two of us. Also, with very few exceptions, Z is the oldest one there. Every time we go to one of these events it’s almost all toddlers and preschoolers. Z still likes super heroes (who doesn’t?), but when he’s 11 is he still going to be into getting his picture with the cow? Maybe. Maybe not.

Listen I am not rushing him to grow up. BELIEVE ME! But he is already past the height limit for the playland and I think it’s a good time to move onto new adventures. 

I tend to think about these things because I am a big fan of closure. I wrote a blog post about it when we moved from Texas.

 I am a little neurotic about closure actually. When I was pregnant with Elle I had to know if that was my last pregnancy because I needed the closure. If someone leaves or hangs up the phone without saying goodbye I feel gypped. They don’t even have to do it to be rude, but I take it personally.If I have one bite left of dessert and the kids eat it, I’m upset because I plan my last bite. I want it to be a good bite. I prepare myself for the bite that will end the meal experience and I savor it differently than the second to last bite. I told you I’m weird.

All that to say I really cherished this final mother-son night at chic-fil-a with Z. I can’t wait for our next night out. 

Not everyone will relate to this.

Some people aren’t on social media or even if they are, they can ignore all the angry posts and contraversial debates without a second thought.

Other people love sharing heated political memes and shooting opinionated comments back and forth with people they don’t even know.

I for one, am NON-CONFRONTATIONAL. I hate conflict. Yet there a feisty little side of me (probably the French Canadian side) that gets really fired up about certain topics. So I have this inner turmoil when a subject hits a nerve on Facebook.

It’s like I have a cartoon angel on one shoulder and a demon on the other. This is their dialogue pretty much every single time.

For the record, I am not saying that it is unwise or immoral to speak up for your beliefs online. Nor do I think it’s wrong if you choose not to get involved. This is simply what goes through my head. The cartoon angel and demon are pretend but #thestruggleisreal.

Also, before you think this is all about the flag and then NFL I can assure you that it is not. I wrote this a long time ago when the debate was over gun laws, or was it police brutality? No wait I think it was when we were debating refugees? Or was it Target bathrooms? Okay, I can’t remember when I typed out this out, but I do know that no matter which debate it was, Donald Trump had something to do with it.

Oy. I think I have said too much. I should probably copy/cut and paste that.

This month’s inspiring mom is a guest post from Tiffany Williams. She has a such a phenomenal story of heartbreak, strength, perseverance and most importantly triumph. It is my pleasure to introduce you to this truly inspiring mom.

When Ken and I met it felt like perfect timing. I had already finished getting my master’s degree in theatre arts and Ken had a very successful career in technology sales. Life was grand.

Our favorite dates were spent eating out at fancy restaurants, traveling to fun locations, going to concerts, or just riding around in Ken’s BMW.

After tying the knot the next logical step for us seemed to be to start a family. So on our 1 year anniversary we decided to start trying, and I got pregnant right away. Panic set in. I wanted to be a mom in theory but I was really scared. I had a ton of dreams and goals for my life. One of my biggest core values is to live life to the fullest. New experiences, fun, and adventure are high on my priority list. I wanted to travel. Like everywhere. I wanted to star in a movie. I wanted to eat food from every continent. I wanted to salsa dance on Friday nights. I wanted to start a ministry. I wanted to speak to women on large stages. And though I liked kids, I liked them for short periods of time. And I really didn’t love babies. I pretended to. But let’s face it. I hated being spitup on, their piercing cries were deafening, and they couldn’t have a conversation or play a game with me=no fun. But after we lost our first baby to a fairly traumatic miscarriage, it was a like a switch flipped inside of me, and I was desperate to be a mom. I didn’t care about the extra work, the extra weight, the extra responsibilities. I just wanted a baby.

We had our first child, who had severe hearing loss and also some other significant special needs. My world was rocked. Life suddenly got really serious and really hard. A year later, I was pregnant again. My water broke with baby #2 8 weeks early. I spent 2 weeks on bed-rest in the hospital and then my sweet baby was in the NICU for weeks after that.

Life was HARD with two tiny babies, both with differing needs and neither who slept through the night. Then, one day it occurred to me that I ought to think about getting pregnant with our third and final baby soon—so that I wouldn’t be having the baby during the big spring musical I was directing. I thought, “I guess we could get pregnant this month or I’ll have to wait 6 more months.” On a whim, we decided to try to get pregnant that month.

WELL, much to my shock, it worked! I dropped that pee-ridden, positive pregnancy test and ran to look at the calendar. Wait a minute, does this mean…oh no. I am going to have 3 kids in 3 years! Tears streamed down my face. “I am not cut out for that, God,” I cried.

I will never forget looking at that first sonogram during my 12 week doctor’s appt, thinking to myself “3 kids in 3 years? Tiffany, you are going to die.” And then I heard my doctor say two little words that would change my life forever. “IT’S TWINS!”

My head went completely blank and all I could remember was the countless times that I had specifically told God, “whatever you do, please don’t give me twins.”

I was going to have 4 kids in 3 years. ME! The non-baby person. The person who wants to live life to the fullest. The person who slept til 11:40 every Saturday morning. I was going to have 4 little kids. What was God thinking?

Thankfully, I was reminded of a scripture early on in my pregnancy that says “2 are better than 1.” (Ecclesiastes 4:9) I kept telling myself that God must have a plan. This was not a mistake. This was not a setback. This was a promotion. I told myself that until I believed it. And I actually got excited about what was ahead.

My twins pregnancy was straight out of a Stephen King novel. Horrific at best. Everything that could’ve gone wrong did. I will spare you the gory details, but look up “worst case scenario” in the dictionary, and you will find my story.  In and out of the hospital 7 different times, trying to keep the babies from coming WAY too early, all kinds of nerve pain and PUPPS and anything else you can imagine. In the end, they came right on time, were healthy as horses, and weighed 7.5 lbs each. Yeah, I got huge. Eight days after I had them, though, I was rushed to the hospital, only to find that I was having heart failure. You heard me right. Congestive heart failure due to pregnancy. It is so rare that it took a few days for my doctors to even figure out what the heck was happening. I will never forget a doctor waking me up to tell me what was happening. I’d finally dozed off 17 straight hours of gasping for every breath. Not sure if I would be able to make it for one more second. The doctor said, “you won’t be able to have any more kids. And let me tell you that the odds aren’t in your favor. 33% of the women who have this don’t make it. 33% of them survive but have major issues—like heart transplants, a pace-maker, or other life-altering changes ahead of them. And 33% of the women will make a full recovery.” “What would it take for me to be one of the lucky 33%?” I asked. “You’ll have to rest your heart for the next 3 months. You will need someone helping you take care of your kids 24/7. You can’t sweep, mop, or lift children.” And the list went on. I smiled and said, “hey doc. Are you going to pay for that?”

We had no family within 2000 miles, but somehow, God provided enough help for us and I made a full recovery. My heart has never been better. God showed up for us in miraculous ways. Friends put together schedules and people would show up at my door with food, babysitting help, toys for the kids. I had several God-dreams that kept me encouraged. I even had an experience (during the worst part of the heart failure) where I went to heaven and heard heavenly music. It was 4-D. It breathed and was full of color. I have never seen or heard anything like it. God proved to me over and over that he was very real and he wasn’t going to let me down.

But then the real work began.  Raising 4 tiny kids. There was a time about a year into it that I literally collapsed and said, “I cannot do this for one more day. I have absolutely no more grace to be a stay at home mom of 4 tiny kids. One with significant special needs, another who is a freaking genius, and two twin babies.” People like to say stupid things like “God won’t give you more than you can handle,” but I just don’t think that’s true. There are lots of times in life where we’re confronted with more than we can humanly handle. But hey, that’s where God comes in. He says “my power is made perfect in weakness.”

In this time when I was so incredibly stretched beyond anything I could rationally do, I learned to rely on God like I’d never relied on him before. And he never let me down. He turned up again and again. In the midst of that time, I didn’t feel victorious. But looking back, I can’t believe what all I was able to accomplish. We traveled! Not often and it was mostly horrifically stressful, but we did it! I started my own successful business! I wrote a blog, I made new friends, I took my kids to playgroups. I SURVIVED! There were tons of stuff I didn’t do well, too. I always had mountains of laundry in our guest room, I never really cooked dinner. I wasn’t able to work out like I used to. Or ever. And I was far too addicted to caffeine. But I also learned to let go of the ridiculous standard I’d managed to set for myself and just do my best each day. At the end of the day, my best was enough.

The thing that really surprised me is that as hard as that season was, it was just that—a season. It didn’t last forever. It left almost as quickly as it came. This year, my 4 kids are all in school full-time for the first time ever. I blinked and suddenly, I went from changing 4 kids’ diapers every day to having 6 glorious me-filled hours every day to do all kinds of adventuring. My latest triumph is I’m attempting to eat at all of the restaurants that I’ve wanted to try for years but couldn’t because they didn’t have a drive through (and you know I was NOT going to drag 4 little kids into pretty much any restaurant. Too stressful!). So far, I’ve tried 12 of them!

You know how it feels when your hand goes numb but then the feeling slowly returns? That’s kind of how I’m feeling these days. Creativity, innovation, and space to dream are slowly returning to me. And then I’m oh so happy to see my kids’ faces when I pick them up every day at 1:55.

Another thing that people say that used to make me mad is this, “enjoy every moment while your babies are little. It goes by too fast.” I usually wanted to throw a poopy diaper into the person’s face. I think a better way to say it is this, “each season is complete with something to celebrate and something to grieve.” As we enter motherhood, we are excited to get to know our baby! We are so blissfully blessed at the privilege of being a mom. But at the same time, we are grieving the loss of our former self. Our freedom. Our abilities. The relationship we had with our husbands. It’s a lot of change, and that’s hard. It is true that it is important to enjoy every moment. We MUST find something to enjoy every day, even the ones that end in tears, or we will regret it. But at the same time, we must also recognize what it is that we’re grieving and give that attention too. Or else we will become bitter and we can even take it out on our kids! But the trick is to spend more time enjoying than grieving. Because seasons always change. They go so fast. And they can be so good.